


Phantosmia

by darkavengerz (darkavenger)



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/F, M/M, Masturbation, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkavenger/pseuds/darkavengerz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Having heightened senses gives Matt Murdock a different perspective on a lot of things. Things that someone else might take for granted, like sleeping in the sheets of a lover, get taken to a whole new level for someone with his gift. Matt has taken home plenty of women over the years, has woken tangled in sheets saturated with their scent and the smell of sex even if the space in the bed next to him is empty and cold. It’s still not something you ever really get used to, the way that scent makes the aftermath of every casual encounter feel more intimate than it is.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantosmia

Having heightened senses gives Matt Murdock a different perspective on a lot of things. Things that someone else might take for granted, like sleeping in the sheets of a lover, get taken to a whole new level for someone with his gift. Matt has taken home plenty of women over the years, has woken tangled in sheets saturated with their scent and the smell of sex even if the space in the bed next to him is empty and cold. It’s still not something you ever really get used to, the way that scent makes the aftermath of every casual encounter feel more intimate than it is.

He makes sure to change his sheets after he brings someone home. It’s hard to call them one night stands otherwise, when it feels like he’s slipping into bed with them again each night. With more long-term partners it can be a comfort, something to tide him over in the lonely, empty nights when they’re not sharing his bed.

With Milla, it was a torment. He’d spent the first night after she’d gone (after they took her) curled up in the bed, their bed, taking in ragged breaths of her scent; the faded remnants of her favourite perfume, the clean smell of her shampoo clinging to the pillow, the smell of her skin, her sweat, ( _her tears, their sex_ ).He’d thrown the sheets out the next day. For what good it did him. It seemed like her scent had seeped into the mattress itself, like her fear and her anger and her love had soaked it through, and every time he laid himself down, particles of that smell were expelled out of the mattress and into the air, suffusing it and surrounding him until her presence was almost tangible.

With Frank, the scent issue was never a concern. When they had sex, it was in back-alleys ripe with the stink of garbage and humanity, or, occasionally, in the comforting anonymity of hotel sheets with their stale, impersonal smell. Sex between them was generally quick but quiet, a fervent, frenetic thing born from desperation and adrenaline, from too many close calls with death, their own and others. Sex was a prayer, a visceral affirmation that they were both alive. When it was over, they left without further ceremony. Frank to whatever dark corner of the city he was living in at the time, Matt to his house, to wash the smell of their sex off his skin. Their sweat, their semen, washed down the drain, removing the evidence of their coupling and providing him with plausible deniability.

Matt has never brought Frank back to his house, to his own bed. That is a level of intimacy he just can not allow between them. He knows Frank understands this unspoken rule, in the same way he knows that Frank understands not to let himself into Matt’s house. Which is why the fact he can smell Frank on his sheets is impossible. The scent is unmistakable (clean but harsh smell of cheap soap mixed with the sickly-sweet gun oil scent that never fully washed off, unique scent of sweat, individual as a fingerprint,  _Frank_ ). It’s strong, as if Frank had been lying in Matt’s bed just moments before. The thought is disturbing, yet Matt knows it can’t be the case. For one thing, Frank just isn’t the type to do something like that. Frank understands the boundaries of their relationship, the limitations of their relationship. He would never transgress so seriously.

Which meant that whatever this was, it was of Matt’s own making. The thought that his one of his senses is deceiving him is disturbing, but not more disturbing than the implications of the way it is betraying him. What does it mean that it’s Frank’s scent his brain has conjured? Scent is in some ways more intimate a sense than touch, for him. There is no sense quite as evocative. Touch might thrill him in the moment, but scent, scent lingers… He breathes in, and it’s like Frank’s beside him in the bed. He finds himself aroused, cock hardening as it responds to his misperception. Memories rise in his mind, of calloused hands running over his skin, and it’s like he can feel every ridge of Frank’s fingerprints pressing against him. His back arches, as he gasps, shocked at the intensity of the impression. He wraps a desperate hand around himself, remembering. The phantom sting of Frank’s stubble rough against him, the way their bodies had moved together, sweat-slick, hot and heavy. He shudders, comes abruptly.

A minute later he gets off the bed, moves distractedly to the bathroom. Cleans the cum off his fingers as he thinks. By the time he gets back into bed, sliding between the covers, Frank’s scent has gone. His bed smells of nothing other than his own sweat and laundry detergent.  

 


End file.
